Bad Idea
by AuthorMAGrant
Summary: The future is a terrifying thing, especially for an immortal candy ruler. Prince Gumball is resigned to a lonely existence until he finds out that his vampire ex Marshall Lee may be getting married in the Nightosphere. Faced with the possibility of losing the only person who ever understood him, Gumball decides to do the one thing a good ruler never should: follow his heart.
1. Chapter 1 - The Stressed King

"Sir, stop fidgeting," Butterscotch Butler said around the pins in her mouth. She held out her hand and waited.

Prince Gumball sighed, but handed over his notebook. Butterscotch Butler tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on the bed with a muffled flapping of pages and Gumball held in a groan. He'd struggle to find his page of carefully printed equations within the mess of the nearly full notebook.

"Arms up," Butterscotch Butler ordered.

BB was fast at this kind of work, but it was another lost hour. He mentally ran through his to do list. Prep for the ball. Finish the vaccine for the new cases of rock candy pox that had run amuck through the preschool. Call Lumpy Space Prince to remind him that he had an invitation to the ball and didn't have to crash it. Order the Gumball Guardians to keep an eye out for Ice Queen, who hadn't visited in far too long. Send back RSVPs to the sixteen different Prince retreats and conferences he'd been invited to.

"Why am I doing this?" Gumball mused while Butterscotch bustled around him, fitting the last of the outfit.

"Do you mean the obvious of getting a new suit, or the bigger picture of allowing Fionna and Cake to wander to the Fire Kingdom instead of coming to the ball, or the existential crisis of why you alone bear the weight of the Candy Kingdom on your pretty pink head?" Butterscotch asked as she pinned his cuff.

And like that, the ideas screaming through Gumball's head came to a screeching halt, all thanks to one word.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there on the step in front of the mirror, staring blankly at the pale pink wall of his bedroom while his butler ensured the suit was properly tailored. When she finished, she patted his arm, told him to watch for the pins when he removed the garments, and left the room.

Only when the door clicked shut behind her did Gumball finally register an emotion clawing its way from behind his ribs.

"Oh, Glob. Oh, Glob, oh, Glob!" he mumbled.

The analytical part of his brain sat back and observed the symptoms running unchecked through his body. Rapid pulse, quickening breath, strange flutter in the stomach, sweaty palms and forehead. _Logical deduction: panic attack._

"I don't have time for a panic attack," he said to no one.

 _Breathe, Gumball._

He sucked in fresh lungfuls of air.

 _Refocus on the task at hand._

Right. Time to change so BB could finish his outfit in time. He started to remove the jacket, wincing when a stray pin stuck his wrist. The pulse of pain seemed to radiate up through his arm, settling somewhere in his throat, cutting off his air.

 _Breathe. Refocus._

So much to do. Too much to do.

The last formula he'd worked out for the vaccine hadn't worked thanks to a stupid math error. That's what he'd been trying to fix before BB took away his notebook. He hadn't noticed his error until too late since he'd been up until three in the morning, bleary eyed by the time he reviewed his work. Tons of supplies wasted. He'd messed up so badly he couldn't even repurpose the slop he'd created.

And if he couldn't fix the vaccine in time, he'd have to turn down Breakfast Prince's invitation to visit. That meant he wouldn't get a chance to learn more about the newest syrups being born in the Breakfast Kingdom or plug the exchange program to young students who could bring new ideas to the Candy Kingdom. Oh, and Breakfast Prince would be hurt and wouldn't understand _why_ Gumball couldn't visit, no matter what he did to try to explain. He didn't have a parent or brother or sister or lover to help run the kingdom while he took a trip away.

 _Breathe._

It wasn't helping.

He tugged the rest of the jacket off and started on his undershirt. He got it untucked, but when he tried to lift it over his head, one of the pins in the waist of the slacks stuck the fabric. He froze, trapped, and the panic he'd so been so carefully controlling erupted.

He spun, flailing, trying to free himself from the fabric chrysalis he'd accidentally created. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't suck in air. Couldn't stop the horrible, terrifying truth creeping up on him, burrowing itself into his brain and heart.

 _Alone._

He, Prince Gumball, ruler of the Candy Kingdom, was alone.

His friends had their own lives. They were there if he needed them, but they couldn't share his burden. That's what he wanted. A partner. Someone he could rely on. Someone who knew the way his brain worked and stepped in to assist because Glob only knew he couldn't bring himself to ask for their help.

He tugged at the shirt, gritting his teeth when his slacks pulled higher with the motion. He didn't need a ton of room, just enough to slip his shoulder and head under the hem. Finally, his hand found a space and he started wriggling free. He was halfway out when a low chuckle emanated from the space above his bed.

He knew that laugh.

Gumball stilled, partially trapped, watching the empty air through a gap between the jacket buttons. "Marshall?"

"What's with the fancy duds?"

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough."

As Gumball expected, Marshall Lee appeared. In all the years they'd been friends, enemies, and ... whatever else they'd been, Gumball had never known Marshall to be able to have a real conversation while invisible. It was probably just because he enjoyed when people looked at him.

People couldn't help looking at Marshall. Maybe it was his clothes. Worn out jeans, a tight tank top and ragged flannel, heavy boots. Marshall was the only citizen of Ooh who could wear clothes like that and look cool instead of lazy. Rocker chic, something Gumball had never been brave enough to attempt. Or, maybe people couldn't tear their gazes away because of _him_. Thick, tousled black hair. Smooth, greyish skin unmarred by any mark except the twin punctures on his neck. Dark eyes that had a habit of piercing the soul and dismissing it out of hand because it was too boring. Prim. Proper. Professional. Dear Glob, how many times had Marshall lamented about Gumball's responsibilities getting in the way of potential adventures?

"Need help, Gumwad?" Marshall asked. He lay above the bed, hovering with his head hanging down, watching Gumball's attempts to free himself with vague interest.

"I've got it."

"Doesn't look like it. Here ..."

He flipped, moved closer, and reached out. Gumball swallowed when Marshall fiddled around with the waistband at the back of his slacks. He hummed while he worked and Gumball caught faint snatches of the melody. Sounded like a new song.

"So, new suit?" Marshall asked.

"Yes."

"What's the occasion?"

"The Biennial Gumball Ball. Didn't you get your invitation?"

Marshall made a dismissive noise. "I just got back. Haven't gone home to check my mail, Your Highness."

"Oh." Gumball knew it was a set up, but he couldn't resist. "Where were you?"

"The Nightosphere. Okay, you're free."

"Thanks." Gumball finished tugging off the shirt and jacket and tossed them onto his dresser.

Marshall hadn't moved away. Gumball shifted his weight back and forth, waiting. When Marshall didn't take the hint, he scowled. "Turn around."

"Why? It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Sweet jellybeans ... The blush rose so fast it scalded his skin. "Oh, honestly."

Marshall rolled his eyes, but returned to his place by the bed. He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and continued humming.

Gumball skinned off the slacks as quickly as he could manage while avoiding the pins and dragged on a pair of pants he'd left out from the day before. They weren't too badly stained from the vaccine gone awry. A quick trip to the armoire netted him a comfortable sweater. He tugged it on, refusing to believe that he'd just caught Marshall peeking at him as he changed.

To distract himself from _that_ path of temptation, Gumball asked, "Why were you in the Nightosphere?"

"Mom wanted me to meet some visiting dignitaries."

"Anyone interesting?"

Marshall shrugged. "Not really. They didn't even like music. Seriously, who doesn't like music? So, why were you flipping out?"

The randomness of the second question stunned Gumball. He squeaked, mouth working uselessly.

"I know you're going to tell me, so let's just hear it." Marshall cracked open an eye and fixed Gumball with a far too canny stare.

"I ... I ..." He couldn't choke the words out.

"Bubs, you looked like you were about to explode. And not in a good way."

"I'm busy," he whispered.

Marshall laughed, rolling over to face Gumball with an insouciance that he wished he possessed. "You're always busy. It couldn't be that much worse than normal."

"It's worse."

Silence. Gumball wished he could take the words back. They'd just spilled out, like some kind of verbal diarrhea. Marshall would laugh at him for admitting that he was struggling. Gumball tensed, bracing himself for the impact of those words.

Except, they didn't come.

"Hey," Marshall said, "stop looking like you expect me to punch a marshmallow."

"Aren't you going to make fun of me?"

"Nah. It's no fun when there's a serious problem going on. I may be evil, but I'm not a jerk."

"Oh." Gumball tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, unsure how to proceed.

"Soooooo ... want to tell me about it?"

"You'll think it's stupid."

"Right now I think _you_ 're stupid. Talk already."

He couldn't bring himself to look at Marshall, so he crossed to the bed instead and picked up his notebook. The words started to pour out. "The Candy Kingdom used to be so small. It was easy to know everyone. To protect everyone. And now it's so big ... There's always some new disaster to prepare against."

His hands were shaking. Gumball sat on the edge of his bed, making a show of flipping through the pages, praying to Glob that Marshall didn't notice. "There aren't enough hours in the day. And I never have time for what I _want_ to do ..."

"And what's that?"

"I'm not sure." And, unbidden, a strange idea rose. "I want to dance."

"Dance?"

Gumball glanced over his shoulder. Marshall wore a look of genuine consternation, nose wrinkled, squinting at Gumball like he couldn't tell if it was a joke.

"Yes," Gumball said. "I never have time to dance at these things. I have to greet everyone and make sure there's enough food and keep everyone happy. Besides," he added quietly, "there's never anyone I _want_ to dance with."

"So why do you go in the first place? Throw the party and ditch out of it once it gets going. There. Problem solved."

Gumball laughed, but couldn't keep the bitterness from it. "You make it sound so easy."

Marshall scowled. "It _is_ that easy. Stop being a wad and do something you _want_ to do for a change. It's not a difficult concept, Bubs. You don't need an equation for it."

Frustrated, he set down the notebook and pointed at his uninvited guest. "How could you understand? You always do what you want."

Marshall's eyes flashed red and his fangs grew, muffling the edges of his words. "Then why the flip did I go to the Nightosphere when I knew Mom would introduce me to the future Vampire Queen?"

"Wh–what?"

But Marshall was already dragging a blanket over himself and heading for the window. "She wants me to marry some crazy demon lady. So I took _responsibility_ and went there to meet her. And when I found out she doesn't like music and is so boring that plucking my eyeballs out of their sockets would be more fun, I left."

The world still spun. Worse, the ache in his chest was growing, splitting into something bigger and scarier. "You're getting married?"

The upper part of the blanket moved, probably from Marshall shrugging. "I dunno. Maybe? Being lonely kind of sucks, you know?"

Dazed, Gumball nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Anyway, I tried to do what was right for everyone else and it didn't work. I'm not saying for you to ditch everything, you dweeb. You have to keep trying, but when it doesn't work out just ... don't be so hard on yourself." He extended a single hand from under the blanket and gave a short wave. "Later, Bubs."


	2. Chapter 2 - Bad Little Boy

Okay, so he hadn't meant to admit that. Marshall knew that Gumball wouldn't go blab to the rest of Ooh, but if word got out that he was lonely, things would get complicated. Fionna and Cake would start visiting all the time. LSP would hit up his cell with more stupid texts. And he'd start getting too many gigs and wouldn't have any time to write new songs.

Besides, when he said that, he didn't mean _lonely-lonely_. More like ... separate. Unattached. Unable to share the little moments of his life with someone who would care.

Which was fine. Dating was for suckers anyway. Love did the stupid to people.

"We don't care about that, do we, Schwabelle?" he asked, petting his zombie cat's head as he entered his house.

Schwabelle yawned with a delicate crack of her jaw and wandered away. Marshall flipped through his mail on the way to the kitchen. Junk, junk, junk, invitation to a Battle of the Bands, and ... there it was. He shook his head as he pulled the thick, glossy envelope from the rest of the stack. Even before he saw the looping calligraphy of Gumball's handwriting, the dark pink color gave away its sender.

He used a claw to undo the seal, pulled out the invite, and read over the floofy handwriting as he drained the low-level red from the envelope.

 _Prince Gumball cordially invites you to attend the Biennial Gumball Ball on Saturday at seven._

"That's it?" Marshall flipped the card, but there was nothing else. No personal notes, no scribbled drawings, nothing. Just a boring, cordial sentence inviting him to a boring, cordial party in one week's time.

"What a wad," he grumbled, tossing the invitation onto his table.

True, they hadn't been together in a few decades, but he'd failed at getting used to the cool reserve Gumball always managed to direct toward him. After they broke up, he'd tried to date a few other people, but not one time had it worked out. Glob, the irony that the only nice guy he'd ever fallen for was the one who truly broke his heart and never apologized for it.

The words in his head shifted into clearer focus. Those could be some good lyrics ...

Humming to himself, Marshall headed upstairs and settled in at his desk, jotting down some of the ideas, tweaking the phrases as he shaped the song into something decent.

 _The day starts and ends_

 _You enjoy the sun and I chase the moon_

La da da dum da ...

He tapped his pencil on the page, closing his eyes as the beat travelled up his arm.

La da da dum da ...

 _I hate hating that I hurt you_

 _But that won't change who I am_

 _So don't ask me to._

La da da dum da da dum ...

By the time he realized the pounding came from downstairs, the song had almost taken shape. Almost.

"What do you want?" he yelled, frustrated at the interruption. He left his bedroom, cooing apologies to a disgruntled Schwabelle as he passed, and swung open the door. He was shocked to find Gumball on the doorstep. "Glob, Bubs, you look awful."

He was kind of sweaty and pale and he kept clasping and unclasping his hands. His pants were dotted with strange bleach stains and his sweater's sleeves were loose, like they'd been pushed up and pulled down over and over. Gumball's perfectly coiffed hair looked like it had been through some kind of windstorm and his crown was askew for the first time Marshall could remember.

"You can't get married," Gumball said without warning.

"Umm ... okay."

"I'm serious. You can't get married."

He shouldn't have been amused when Gumball dug his hands into his hair as he made his plea. But Marshall could count on a single hand the number of times he'd seen Gumball genuinely upset and it was a novel experience. So he reveled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why not? I may not have been perfect for you, but I might be able to make someone else happy."

"She doesn't even like music! You said so yourself."

"You don't like music either."

"That's bullstuff and you know it. I went to all your concerts–"

"When we were together," Marshall finished. "You haven't been to one since unless it was your royal duty."

Gumball had the grace to blush, although he didn't retreat like Marshall expected. "I know. And I'm sorry."

Upstairs, the lyrics itched to be finished. Marshall tamped down his impatience. "Why are you here? Don't you have a ball to finish getting ready for?"

"You said you were lonely."

"That doesn't mean I need you to come over and check on me."

"I'm lonely too," Gumball blurted out.

"Ooooooookay. So because we're both lonely we can, what, hang out together or something? I'm not sure how that's going to help."

Gumball groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why did I think this would be easy?"

"I don't even know what _this_ is."

Gumball looked up and Marshall tensed at his raw determination. "Marshall Lee, you and I are both lonely and if you get married, I'll be the only one left on my own. So I can't let you do it."

That at least surprised a laugh from him. "So your big plan is that we both stay lonely and miserable?"

Gumball shook his head. "No. Not miserable. But maybe we can be lonely together."

And Gumball closed that distance between them, wrapping his arms around Marshall's neck and dragging him down until their lips met. Warmth and soft and the flick of a tongue and so much sweetness that he thought he'd die all over again—

"This is a bad idea," Marshall mumbled when Gumball reached down and tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

"I _need_ a bad idea."

"You're going to regret this."

Gumball pulled back and his smile wavered. "No, I won't. Just for tonight, I won't." He bit his lower lip and glanced away. "Is that … _could_ that be enough for you?"

"One night?" Marshall asked.

He wanted to tell the truth. That one night wasn't anywhere close to long enough. That one night would never make up for all the damage done, that it would only make it worse when he woke up in an empty bed and knew that Gumball had walked out of his life. Again.

But he was nostalgic and lonely and stupidly, stupidly in love. So he reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over the pale pink curve of Gumball's cheek.

"Sure," Marshall said, wishing his voice wasn't so rough. "If that's all you can give, I'll take it."

Gumball made a strangled noise and launched himself at Marshall.

One night. At least he'd have a hell of a song to write later.

Gumball wasn't used to sharing a bed. He spread himself wide on the mussed sheets, face buried in a pillow. Every now and then he twitched or made a soft sound of contentment in his sleep.

His Majesty was a bit of a cuddler, it turned out. It had taken Marshall nearly an hour to extricate himself from Gumball's grip. But he'd had to leave the bed … the lyrics running through his head were too loud and if he didn't get them down now, the song wouldn't turn out.

He hovered a few inches above the mattress and adjusted his grip on the bass, balancing the paper with the completed lyrics on his knee. The gentle movement of bending to read his scrawled writing in the partial darkness made his back and thighs sting, the nail marks stretching uncomfortably when the skin shifted. He wouldn't trade the pain for anything in the world. Even though they'd heal within the hour, for now he wore a badge of honor, proof of their physical connection, of the pleasure he'd given Gumball.

Marshall smiled and plucked at the strings, humming to himself and singing the lyrics in his head. This wasn't a song for Gumball. Not yet, at least.

The entire kingdom would memorize this one. He'd sing it at every show, croon it out to an audience, and let each of them imagine he was singing to their soul alone. They could imagine what they wanted. It wouldn't change the truth behind the song.

At his left, Gumball stretched and reached in the darkness toward the spot Marshall had occupied. His hand curved, stroked at the cool sheet with the same caress Marshall used to strum out another chord. The movement—so simple, so unconscious—made the next verse stumble in his mind. He recovered quickly, but not fast enough to stop the sudden tightening in his throat or the weight in his chest.

This was bad. This was very bad.

He knew what would happen in the morning and if he had any heart left, it would be broken. He'd gone through this once before and it had been enough to drive him from Ooh back then. Decades spent travelling abroad exhausted his memories and self-loathing before he returned home to find a pair of squatters living in his tree house. And for some insane reason, he hadn't run away again, even though that would have been so much easier. He'd settled down here instead. Made friends. Protected PG and his people.

He'd grown stronger. He'd learned to protect his heart so he didn't make stupid mistakes again and forget his actual responsibilities. Until things in the Nightosphere were sorted out, he couldn't afford to lose that newfound strength. He couldn't risk forgetting what his purpose was, what the end goal had become. If he lost sight of that, his mom would marry him off and leave him to rot on the throne before he could protest.

No, he just needed to hold together for a little while longer. Gumball was always preaching about responsibilities. Marshall had no doubt that he'd understand the choices made, even if they hurt for a short while. Even if he couldn't explain himself and Gumball might not forgive him.

The chance for happiness was too close. He wouldn't let it slip away again.

Another chord.

 _I want to be happy again_

 _But that means letting go …_

"Marshall?" Gumball's voice was rough from sleep.

"Yeah, Bubs?"

"Why aren't you asleep?"

He chuckled, reaching down to tuck the lyrics behind his pillow. "Son of a vampire and a demon. Nighttime's kind of my jam. But don't worry. I'll wake you up in the morning."

Gumball huffed and rolled to his back, looking up at Marshall through half-lidded eyes. "Is that a new song?"

"It is. I was finishing it when you showed up."

"Oh. Sorry I interrupted."

He hated being so far away, especially when Gumball closed his eyes and hid all those quiet, vulnerable thoughts. Marshall drifted closer to the bed, dropping his hand from the neck of the bass so he could slide his fingers over Gumball's bare chest.

"I didn't mind," he admitted, rewarded by the blush rising to Gumball's cheeks. "I wasn't sure how it ended anyway."

"You know now?"

"I think so."

Gumball hummed, his pink gaze skimming over Marshall's skin. He reached up, tracing the nearly healed scratches on Marshall's pallid skin. "Sorry for these."

"Geez, you apologize too much." Marshall caught Gumball's hand when he pulled away, lifting it to his lips. "It hurts, but I kinda like it. Reminds me of when we used to be friends."

Yeah, he liked this version of PG. The flush spread lower, extending to his neck, falling over his collarbone, spreading to his chest.

"We're _still_ friends," Gumball protested, but it was weak.

It wasn't worth the argument. Marshall was enjoying himself too much to push _those_ memories around tonight. He didn't want this to end any sooner than it had to.

"Okay," Gumball amended, eyes flicking toward the bedroom window even as he left his hand in Marshall's, "maybe we aren't that close anymore." Pale teeth pressing into that bitable lip.

Marshall finally released his grip. He set his bass aside and settled fully on the bed, wrapping an arm around Gumball's shoulders and pulling him close. "For once, stop thinking. We can talk about it in the morning. Go back to sleep."

Gumball rested his head on Marshall's shoulder and Marshall breathed in deeply, reveling in the caramel scent of Gumball's hair.

"If I fall asleep, you're going to pretend this conversation never happened tomorrow morning," Gumball muttered to Marshall's pec.

"True."

"So I can't fall asleep."

"Good luck with that." He smoothed small circles over Gumball's back and grinned when Gumball made a slack-jawed moan into his skin. "I still know all your buttons, Bubs."

It was so quiet, so low, he almost didn't catch it. Wouldn't have caught it if it hadn't been for his vampire hearing. That was probably Gumball's intent.

"Why'd I ever drive you away?"

A moment later, Gumball's breathing evened and Marshall lay there, wide-awake, mind blank for the first time in centuries.


	3. Chapter 3 - Nothing Stays

As promised, Marshall woke him, just not in the way Gumball expected. Later, sweaty, sated, and more than happy to wake up to Marshall's mouth and body every morning, Gumball managed to drag himself out of bed and claim the shower first. He dried off and headed back to the bedroom to gather his clothes, but was surprised to find that Marshall had already tossed a clean outfit on the bed.

"Feel free to borrow them," he said as he slipped passed Gumball toward the bathroom. "I know how much you hate wearing dirty clothes."

The door clicked shut softly behind him. Only when Gumball was positive he was alone did he reach out and tentatively touch the pile of fabric. Ripped jeans, a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, and no boxers anywhere.

"Typical," he mumbled, but he couldn't help smiling.

He got dressed and attempted to make the bed before wandering downstairs. The sun had clawed its way past the horizon judging by the pale orange sky visible through the cave's entrance.

Schwabelle purred and butted her head against Gumball's ankle. He scratched behind her ear and followed her to the door. She sat patiently until he opened it for her. Path to freedom open, she gave a sweet meow of thanks and made her way outside.

"Be careful," he called after her for good measure.

Now what?

His stomach growled. Breakfast. Breakfast was a good idea.

It didn't take too long to dig around Marshall's cupboards to find a partial box of Fionna's favorite cereal. He poured some into a bowl, added a splash of bug milk from the fridge, and started to eat to distract himself from the strange realization that he didn't feel all that out of place here. The knots he was used to feeling in his shoulders and neck had eased during the night. His heart wasn't fluttering like a bird's wings against a cage. Instead, he was … dare he say it? Peaceful.

Gumball chewed another spoonful of cereal, carefully inspecting the emotion. He hadn't felt it in so long that it was unfamiliar. It took him longer to examine each angle, to check and ensure that he wasn't fooling himself. He wasn't a fool though and when he couldn't find any glaring warning signs, he heaved a sigh, let his shoulders drop, and kept eating.

"So, what now?" Marshall asked, yawning as he floated through the doorway and headed for the fridge.

Gumball's brain had no answer. It had shut off the moment it realized Marshall was still shirtless, the pale, wiry muscled expanse of his chest and abdomen on display. His jeans looked painted on and he tossed a sweater onto an empty chair as he passed.

"Bubs?"

No synapses firing except the ones relaying the simple message over and over. _So almost naked._

Marshall tugged open the fridge and his back flexed.

The things they'd done last night, the words Gumball had groaned and promises he'd pressed against that skin …

"Wow, I didn't know you could blush that much. You're making me hungry." Marshall drained the red from an apple and gave a wicked smile, one that promised horrible, filthy things to come.

Gumball wanted them all.

He nearly dropped his spoon into his cereal. For the love of Glob, what was he thinking?

"Look," Marshall continued, as if Gumball weren't acting like a complete idiot, "after breakfast, how about you call for that steed of yours and catch a ride back to the Candy Kingdom. I know you've got a lot to do–"

"Actually, I don't. I mean, I don't have to go. Unless you want me to. But I'd rather stay here with you."

Gumball could count on one hand the number of times he'd shocked the power of speech from Marshall. And the moment he realized what he'd stammered, he wanted the ground to open up underneath him and swallow him whole.

"Oh, Glob," Gumball whispered, "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It's fine. I'm not angry. I'm … surprised."

Gumball snuck a glance at Marshall. For once, he was flushed. Most people wouldn't have noticed it, the slight warming of the skin over the slash of his cheekbones, the tips of his ears. But Gumball noticed. Worse, he suspected what Marshall's _real_ emotion was.

"You're not surprised," he said flatly. "You're embarrassed that I said that. This is when you're going to throw what I said back at me, right? Tell me that it was fun, but you've got some things to do and that you know I wouldn't be interested in them. You'll say we should keep in touch and you'll walk me to the door and then you'll never talk to me again until Fionna and Cake make us hang out."

"Why would you think that?"

He hated Marshall's gentle question. It was too kind for the rawness the words held. Gumball's throat tightened and his eyes prickled. "Because that's exactly what I did to you."

He couldn't bear to watch the pain he was sure he'd see on Marshall's face. He stared down at his bowl, pushing the last few bites of cereal around the milk with his spoon. He tried not to breathe. To make himself invisible. To disappear because maybe being lonely was better than being rejected.

"Hey." A pale grey hand on his, stilling the frenetic movement of the spoon. "Look at me, Bubs."

He didn't want to. But he couldn't help himself, not when Marshall asked like that.

Marshall hovered near the table, crimson eyes glowing softly, fangs slightly extended. Smiling. How was the jerk smiling?

"I _want_ you here."

Somehow, he choked on air. Marshall's smile widened. "Didn't expect me to say that, did you?"

"How can you say that to _me_?" Gumball tried to yank his hand away, but Marshall didn't let him. "When we broke up, I was a real dinger to you. You wrote a song about it. Remember? And now I've come crawling back just like you said I would, so here's your chance to make it even."

Marshall frowned. "You remember our break up song?"

Enough was enough. Gumball wrenched his hand free, tilting precariously in his chair before he righted himself and pushed away from the table. "Of course I remember our break up song! How could I forget it? It was the only freakin' song anyone in Ooh sang for months!"

"Seriously, PG, I don't remember it."

"You … you _forgot_ the song you wrote about how I broke your heart?"

Marshall shrugged. The lazy motion should have made Gumball furious. Instead, his mouth watered. "I've written a _lot_ of songs."

"You are unbelievable."

Marshall tsked. "Only figuring it out now?"

No words. He had no words. Instead, his mouth opened and closed and strange, strangled little noises escaped.

"Like I was saying before you freaked out about a song I wrote _decades_ ago, I want you stay here. But you can't."

His mind raced, whirled, spun out, crashed, and burned. "That's a lot to process all at once."

Marshall laughed and floated back to the other end of the table, snagging his sweater and pulling it on. Gumball wasn't sure whether he appreciated or mourned the gesture.

"What _did_ you hear?" Marshall asked.

"First, I'm not freaking out. I'm bringing up a painful memory you conveniently have forgotten. Second, you want me to stay. And third, even though you say you want me to stay, you're still breaking up with me."

Marshall somehow managed to roll his eyes and shake his hair out of his face at the same time. "Okay. Clarification it is. I don't remember the words of the song, but I never forgot how much that whole disaster hurt. Yes, I want you to stay. I'll tell you that a hundred times, if it'll help. And we aren't breaking up because we aren't dating yet."

He said something else, but Gumball didn't hear it. He'd gotten stuck on that tiny word: _yet_. _Yet_ meant that dating was going to be a thing. Marshall teased and played tricks, but he never lied, at least not to Gumball.

"Bubs."

Gumball shook his head and tried to focus. "What?"

"I was saying that keeping busy in bed all day is high on my list of priorities, but right now you can't stay because I've got to go so I can get back faster."

"Where are you going?"

"The Nightosphere."

How strange. When had his hands clenched into fists? And why was he slightly sweaty and out of breath? "You're going back there. After everything your mom's done, you're still going to go and hang out with the future Vampire Queen?"

Marshall tilted his head, forehead wrinkling, eyes narrowing. "Are you jealous?"

"No!" _Yes. All the yes._

"You're a prince. You understand responsibilities. I've got some. I thought you'd want me to take care of them."

Holy milkshakes, he was going to punch Marshall's cheek meat. "So you're going to go get married."

The millennia that had passed as the world rebuilt after the Mushroom Wars seemed a second in comparison to the shocked silence now. And then, slowly, like he was afraid of setting Gumball off, Marshall pointed at his own chest.

"You think I'm going to the Nightosphere to get married."

"That's what's expected of you." Gumball ground his teeth when Marshall looked at him like he was stupid. He was the prince of the Candy Kingdom, Glob darn it. He wasn't stupid. "Responsibilities. You're going to go there and get married and make your mom happy–"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Not for a lack of words or effort. Marshall had closed the distance with unexpected speed and stopped the movement of Gumball's mouth with his own. The minor irritation of being interrupted burned away in a heartbeat.

Oh, kissing was good. Kissing felt right. The way lips met and breath mingled and fingers scrabbled for purchase against hair and shoulders and necks. Yes. This was good, even if Marshall's impending marriage wasn't.

Gumball wasn't sure if he'd run out of air, or if Marshall had, but they pulled apart, chests heaving.

"I know you're used to being on your own," Marshall said, "but that's not going to happen anymore. I need you to trust me."

He wanted to argue. Except, Marshall floated there, his heart in his eyes, and the truth was, Gumball _did_ trust him. Marshall might be the only person in all of Ooh he could say that about. Even when they'd been at odds, most of his irritation came from Marshall's ability to call him out and keep him honest.

So he didn't argue. He nodded instead.

"I just got you back, Bubs. I'm not about to walk away from that. But if we're going to last, I've got to get my stuff together. Anyone less than an equal won't cut it for you."

Ouch. Hearing that hurt more than Gumball expected. Still, he couldn't argue with the truth. Shameful as it was, he couldn't deny that he would resent Marshall for his freedom if he simply walked away from his responsibilities in the Nightosphere to take a place near the throne of the Candy Kingdom.

Gumball took in a shaky breath. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Go. Take care of this." He reached out, tangling his fingers with Marshall's. The weight in his heart lifted a little at the shy joy on Marshall's face. "I'll be here when you get back."

"I don't know how long it'll take."

"I know."

He let Marshall draw him closer. Surrendered to the tender way Marshall hugged him, whispered promises in his ear, soothed his fears. Butterscotch Butler's words came back to him. He'd been bearing the weight of the Candy Kingdom for this long. He could last a little longer. He knew Marshall's shoulders were broad enough. Would be there next to his for the rest of their lives. They'd have forever. That would be enough.

Slowly, the realization settled itself deep within him. It dug in deep, to the bedrock, and the pressures of the world eased. Once Gumball was certain it would stay, he roused himself from Marshall's arms. "Do you need to pack?"

"Nah. Just check on Schwabelle for me. No one's stupid enough to steal from me." He snorted. "Except Fionna and Cake, I mean."

"Obviously." Gumball looked around the kitchen. "How do you get to the Nightosphere?"

"Might as well get this over with," Marshall muttered. He grabbed a pen from the counter where it had rested near one of the notebooks littering the house, and scribbled a circle with a happy face in the center on one of the cupboards.

"Now," he started, picking up Gumball's cereal bowl. "A little bug milk."

He splashed the leftover milk over the drawing, which sucked in all the moisture with a strange squelch.

"Last step," Marshall announced. "The Dog Latin. _Maloso vobiscum et cum spiritum_."

It was like all the air in the room vanished. Gumball's gut churned as a portal wrenched itself open. Beyond the shimmering edges of the hole he could see the nightmarish landscape of the Nightosphere.

Marshall squeezed his hand. "Gotta go. Be back soon, Bubs."

"Right."

Marshall's kiss was light, delicate, and full of promise. The absence of his hand was terrifying. The sight of him going through the portal was worse.

"Marshall!"

He glanced over his shoulder, hovering there, exactly what Gumball had always wanted and needed and never appreciated until now.

Gumball tried to smile. "Are we dating now?"

That surprised a laugh from Marshall. His eyes flashed and his grin outshone the sun. "Why not?"

And the portal snapped shut, leaving Gumball in the middle of an empty kitchen, alone once more. At least, for now.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Pretty Good Bad Idea

_2 Years Later_

Gumball's cheeks hurt. Over the centuries, he'd grown used to that, but the past two years had reminded him just how painful cheek cramps could be.

Lumpy Space Prince swung his punch glass widely. The slosh of drink nearly missed splattering over Gumball's new suit. "Oh my Glob, PG, this is the greatest Biennial Gumball Ball you've ever thrown."

"Thanks," he said, already scanning the room to see who else he still needed to check in with.

Overhead the Jolly Kinders cooed and trilled their delight at the sight of the Candy Kingdom's inhabitants celebrating. Fionna and Flame Prince were happily dancing to the band's music. Cake and Lord Monichromicorn less than subtly snuck out toward the gardens. The Countess of Lemongrip scowled in a corner. Various princes chatted and ate the mini-cupcakes Gumball had spent all last night making and the rest of the residents played games and celebrated a continued era of peace. LSP was right; this was the best-attended and most enjoyed party he'd ever held.

That was something to be proud of. After Marshall left, Gumball realized just how much the random concerts and crazy midnight wolf rides helped the citizens of Ooh to relax. He'd taken a page from Marshall's book and tried to have more fun. It still felt unnatural, but that didn't matter. It made him a better ruler and it helped distract him from the fact that he hadn't heard anything from the Nightosphere for two years.

That was fine. Marshall never broke a promise. Gumball snagged a glass of punch from the table and took a sip. He wouldn't be lonely forever.

More citizens came up to greet him. He smiled and joked and listened to their stories. No one asked him to dance. No one noticed the way he kept looking at the door to his lab with longing. He was distracted enough by the allure of his newest experiment that it took him a second to realize that the music had changed.

 _La da da dum da ..._

Wait. Didn't he recognize this song? He'd heard it before. He tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he set down his glass.

The band continued to play, the crowd kept dancing, and Gumball's world had frozen. He stood there at the table as Marshall walked toward him.

He was a little thinner, a little paler. He'd cut his hair, slicked it back from his face so he couldn't hide any expression. Gumball blushed, mind already racing forward to what he'd see on Marshall's face later that night, after the party ended. The tuxedo was all clean lines and class and shining satin. With some amusement, Gumball recognized the design.

"How'd you convince Butterscotch Butler to make it for you?" he asked when Marshall stopped in front of him.

"Didn't I tell you that she's a huge fan of my mother? An autograph and a death threat were more than enough."

Gumball forced himself to stay calm. He fought to keep his arms crossed over his chest instead of wrapping them around Marshall. "It's been a while," he said, careful to keep his voice even. There was no blame, just relief that Marshall had returned.

Marshall nodded. "My mom asked me to stay and talk everything out with her instead of running away. So I did. It took longer than I expected."

"What did you two talk about?"

"I'll tell you," Marshall promised, "but only if you dance with me."

He extended a hand forward, waiting. Gumball took it without any hesitation. Somehow Marshall found them some space on the dance floor, pulling Gumball close.

"What's with the gloves?" Marshall asked.

"Forgot to wash the ink off my hands in the lab before the party. Butterscotch said she wouldn't let me hold the party unless I looked presentable."

Marshall threw his head back and laughed. When the fit of hilarity passed, he rested his forehead against Gumball's, still smiling. "You look amazing."

Gumball smiled back, relaxing into Marshall's careful lead and their movements that got lost in the sheer magnitude of the crowd. "The Nightosphere," he pressed.

Marshall's grip tightened. "I told my mom I won't rule it. And that I won't get married to some random evil princess she finds. We kind of argued over that. I told her that if she ever wanted to see me again, she'd have to stop blackmailing me into doing what I don't want to do. Eventually she figured out I was serious. Soooo … I can go back and visit whenever I want, but it'll be for vacations instead of something else."

Gumball gaped. "You said all that?"

"What? Are you kidding? Of course I said all that."

"Even the part about the princess?"

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Kind of hard to marry a princess when you're already in love with a prince."

Gumball froze, caught somewhere between elation and horrified shock. " _Prince_."

"Prince," Marshall confirmed, tugging at his hand to get him to start dancing again.

It worked. Kind of. Gumball's feet still felt like they were stuck in taffy. "Is he someone I know?"

Marshall smirked at him. "Maybe."

There was nothing to say to that. Gumball pressed his cheek to Marshall's, reveling in the sweet truth that he was back after two long years.

Marshall cleared his throat. "Hey, Bubs, I meant to ask … Do you recognize the song?"

"Of course." Gumball drew his head back, checking Marshall's expression. "Isn't this the one you were working on before you left?"

"Yep. Want to be the first to hear the lyrics?"

His lips brushed Gumball's ear as he crooned the song for him and no one else.

 _The day starts and ends_

 _You enjoy the sun and I chase the moon._

 _There was never a hope for us._

 _I hate that you turned from me_

 _And walked away into the light_

 _Where I couldn't follow._

 _I hate hating that I hurt you._

 _It won't change who I am_

 _So don't ask me to._

 _I want to be happy again_

 _But that means letting go_

 _And I don't want to do that yet_

 _Cuz I'm not so lonely when I'm alone with you._

 _So stay with me_

 _Stay close to me tonight_

 _And every night after_

 _Cuz I'm not so lonely when I'm alone with you._

"What do you think, Bubs? Is it going to be the next big hit?" Marshall whispered. His hands clasped Gumball's face and he wiped away the tears with a tender dedication that only led to more.

"I'm not sure," Gumball choked out. He gave a watery bark of laughter at Marshall's shock. "I think I need a private performance before I can decide."

A tremor shivered through Marshall and Gumball sighed at the possessive hunger in those red eyes.

"That can be arranged," Marshall rasped.

"Now?"

Marshall glanced around them. "But your ball … Leaving now would be a bad idea."

"I need a bad idea."

A flash of recognition in Marshall's eyes. How many times had Gumball replayed this conversation in his head?

Gumball smiled and kissed Marshall, melting into him. Around them, a rippling murmur of _ooo_ s and _aww_ s. Cake's hissed exclamation of "Sweet babies!" Fionna's triumphant crow. And inside, so much joy that he was afraid it would burn its way out and consume everything.

Marshall blinked when Gumball broke off the kiss. His lips were swollen, his eyes dazed, his breathing erratic. Gumball's heart beat faster. A future of _this_ stretching out forever ahead of him.

"And I'm a pretty good bad idea?" Marshall asked when he finally regained his voice.

"The best of them all."

 **THE END**


End file.
